


The Russian Connection

by Rigel99



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 006 Needs Love Too, Alec Trevelyan Appreciation, Crossover, GoldenEye Fix, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 21:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: Full Disclosure: This is taken from the next arc I'd started at the end of Fight Like Cat & Dog, my MallQry story. But I don't appreciate 006 enough, and thanks to the encouragement and organisation of the 00Q FB Group such wrongs can be righted.I hope to have a nice little get back together for them formed by the end of 006 Appreciation Week.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [natalieashe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts).



> Full Disclosure: This is taken from the next arc I'd started at the end of Fight Like Cat & Dog, my MallQry story. But I don't appreciate 006 enough, and thanks to the encouragement and organisation of the 00Q FB Group such wrongs can be righted. 
> 
> I hope to have a nice little get back together for them formed by the end of 006 Appreciation Week.

“Bloody hell, I hate these things.”

“Now, now Q. Don’t let the PM catch you moaning. Flies in the face of the required diplomacy at these gatherings.”

Moneypenny stood next to Q, scanning the room with her usual observant protectiveness. They were on the edge of the gathering, small clusters of stuffed shirts in tuxedo, stood around the scattering of tall standing tables placed far enough away from each other to ensure privacy of their conversations.

Q sighed. “I really don’t know why Mallory insists I attend these things. I have far better things to be doing with my time.”

Moneypenny raised her eyebrows. “And you think the Head of the SIS doesn’t?”

“That’s not what I meant Eve.”

“Just teasing, Boffin,” she said with a nudge of her elbow against his ribs. “I know why he brings you.”

“Oh really, enlightened one.”

“Of course. So he can snog your beautiful brains senseless in the back of his car on the way home.”

“Pure speculation,” said Q smoothly, but could barely cover the smirk on his lips with his glass.

She threw him a steely, no nonsense look. “Just keep telling yourself that, Q,” she replied before confidently strolling off in the direction of the bar.

And of course, no sooner had her warm shield left his side than another took its place.

A deep, familiar baritone rumbled in his ear. The scent of musky cologne waifed gently into his nostrils.

“Always makes me a little melancholy….”

Q felt himself go completely still.

“A fine, young mind being forced to fraternise with dusty old politicians needing to be hauled away for scrap…”

“Bond…?” he breathed.

Q turned to be met by bright, blue eyes dancing with mischief.

“I’m back.  Pleased to see me?”

“If by pleased you mean surprised, shocked… I thought you were out?” Q said, taking a fortifying sip from his wine glass.

Bond shrugged. “Circumstances change? A man adapts. And once an agent…”

“Always an agent?” finished Q, settling comfortably back into their mutual banter.

Eve, on the other side of the room, and helping keep Tanner sane from the attentions of the higher-ups, was the first to notice the reappearance of the rogue agent into secret service circles. She nudged Tanner gently, who glanced at her before looking in the direction her eyes were indicating.

Tanner’s heart quickened, and then rapidly sank.

Excusing himself, he made his way over to Mallory, who clocked the concern on his Chief of Staff’s face just before he instinctively looked over to where he knew Q had been standing moments before.

From that moment on, Operation Damage Control was in full swing.

But in the world of secrets and spies, sometimes more can happen in a five second frame than a lifetime.

“So Quartermaster?” Bond said, apparently thoroughly enjoying reacquainting himself with London life and all its trappings. He turned to help himself to a fresh glass of champagne on a passing silver tray, “Got any shiny new toys for—“ when his hand faltered, inches from the glass. The sounds from the groups surrounding them, fell away to a dull murmur. A soft red haze descended slowly across Bond’s mind. Somehow, against all the odds, he kept his composure. For the moment at least. Perhaps time away from the service had mellowed his hollow soul somewhat.

By the time Q had turned to tell him he didn’t have a firefly’s chance in Siberia of getting his hands on any of Q’s precious kit and cargo, Bond appeared to have realigned his targeting gear and was heading towards…

“Oh no,” breathed Q to himself, abandoning his glass and futilely trailing behind Bond’s determined wake, knowing he didn’t have a chance in hell of reaching the man before he made contact. Contact, Q imagined, which might well equal the human equivalent of the dropping of the atomic bomb in the middle of old London town.

So one can only imagine his palpable relief when Mallory materialised in his path, blocking Bond’s progress with commanding ease.

Bond faltered for a split second before regaining his steely composure.

He rolled back his shoulders and flexed a stubbled jaw, followed swiftly by a restrained, slanted smile with trademark charm. “M. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Quite, Bond. I’ll be happy to return that pleasure if you can confirm you returned with Q Branch’s Aston intact?” he replied with quiet authority.

“Of course, Sir. Not a mark on her,” Bond smoothly replied, his gaze averting just once towards the man with whom he was presently much more interested in engaging.

A split second was all that passed before he felt the combined presence of Moneypenny and Tanner on either side of him. He almost smiled, could sense their trepidation at what measures to which they would need to resort in order to keep the beast contained.

“James! What an utter delight to see you again!” Moneypenny was beaming, genuinely pleased to see the wayward agent again. Tanner, as usual, was a little more conservative and reserved with his enthusiasm though he could not deny that he missed the edge of unpredictability Bond brought to most occasions.

“So,” M said, holding his gaze, “is this 007 reporting for duty? There will be the usual barrage of tests before we can confirm you fit for mission, of course. Can’t just have you thinking you can go wandering back into the field opening old wounds…”

M glanced over his shoulder then. “…At least until we can ensure your own are sufficiently healed.”

Taking that as his cue to approach, the man who had been the laser point focus of Bond’s attentions moments before stepped up behind Mallory.

Bond could feel the tension radiating off Tanner and Moneypenny hotter than an equatorial sun.

“Good to see you again, James,” the familiar rich accented voice cool and smooth echoed through his mind, taking him back to operations shared across the globe with a brother-in-arms, and the memory of no greater betrayal before or since ever known. The auburn-haired agent extended his hand in greeting. Bond declined taking it in his own.

“You died. Twice on my last count.”

“Occupational hazard,” replied Trevelyan.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Paris, 1991**

Commander James Bond strolled down the Champs Elysees, resolute in his intentions to a) get fed, b) get pissed and c) get laid, hopefully by some gorgeous Parisienne with legs that would help him forget the last two years spent at sea on board the Ark Royal.

He breathed in the air like a man who had been held underwater for a few seconds too long, enjoying reconnecting with humanity once again. He cut quite the aesthetic, his Naval uniform and the few but impressive medals adorning his chest garnering some appreciative glances, from both sides of the gender equation.

Paris was known for its tolerance of the more diverse and cosmopolitan which is exactly why Bond had chosen it to be his first port of call in this new post-Cold War era.

He had met with his future employer only the week before, she had stopped off en route to somewhere or other to rendezvous with him in Prague to discuss his future prospects in the SIS and what it would mean to work for the most cutting edge intelligence agency in the world.

He thought he’d impressed her well enough, until….

_“The Double O programme is no cake ride, you know, Commander Bond. You will be expected to take lives. Eventually. Once you’ve earned your licence to kill of course.”_

_“I understand Ma’am.”_

_“And then of course, there’s the matter of your marks…” she continued._

_“Marks, Ma’am?”_

_“Targets, Bond. People from which you may be required to use whatever means necessary to extract information.”_

_“Oh I’m sure I’ll perform well. I won’t let you down.”_

_“Glad to hear that. It’s sometimes challenging for agents to accept that they may be required to sleep with either sex, situation depending…”_

_She quirked a lip when she noticed his face blanche. Smug bastard, she thought to herself. “Will that be a problem?” she asked with an innocently raised eyebrow._

_“Of course not,” he replied smoothly._

He left that meeting knowing they both bloody well knew it was.

He stood outside one of the better known haunts of all things uniform and reached into a pocket to pull out a franc. His intention had been to sink himself into the softness of a willing lass, but part of him knew if he was going to impress at MI6 when he took up the agent mantle next month he had to be prepared for the worst.

He flipped the coin.

And the decision was made for him. He pushed open the bar door and let fate lead him by the bollocks to whatever she had in store for him…

* * *

 What she had in store even took a young but seasoned sea pup by surprise. The bar was heaving with life; men and women (though mostly men of course) drinking themselves into the required oblivion to best deal with the “well, this is what we do now that the higher-ups have decided we’re all friends” circumstances in which they now found themselves.

James sat quietly in a booth, sipping a vodka while assessing the situation, getting a read on some of the more interesting patrons. He didn’t notice the head that had popped up over the partition opposite until it spoke.

“ Konechno, ne pit' v odinochku v takoy znamenatel'nyy den’?”

James looked up at the source of the question. He was greeted by the face of a striking looking young man, probably about 4-5 years younger than James, beaming smile, strong jaw, clean-shaven with floppy dirty blond mess of hair.

James gave a small smile and tipped his shot glass towards the Russian.

“No ya ne odinok, ne tak li?” lifting the bottle before turning his attention back to the milling crowds.

The intruder however, took that as an invitation, slipping out of his seat and into the booth opposite Bond, who paused with the glass on his lips and a questioning look.

“Ne seychas, net…” he replied, sliding his glass towards the bottle.

James, always a sucker for brazenness that matched his own, tipped the liquid into the vessel and raised his own.

“ 'Nasdarovje.”

He laughed brightly in response, cheeks flush with the alcohol, before knocking back the shot in unison with Bond.

“Alec Trevelyan.”

“James Bond.” 

* * *

 

Admittedly, they were both very drunk but despite that, James found himself enjoying the experience immensely.

Stretched out naked on the cushioned recliner in Alec’s hotel room, both of them having stripped each other off their uniform as soon as the door swung shut, at first Bond couldn’t meet Alec’s gaze, kneeling on the plush carpet in front of him but when he asked and Bond didn’t say no, he immediately took the semi-soft cock in his mouth and went to work bringing James rapidly to full hardness in a much shorter time than Bond would have thought himself capable, given the unusual set of circumstances.

And when he involuntarily curled his toes into the carpet, felt the sensation of heat rising in his balls and blossoming dip in the pit of his stomach, he let out a laugh. Alec frowned before pulling off, looking mildly offended.

But before he could say anything, Bond pitched forward to place his hands against his shoulders and pushed him flat on his back, aligning every part of their bodies comfortably against one another.

“This is as far from a Cold War as I’ve ever been,” he muttered against his lips before diving his tongue into his mouth.

The soft, compliant moan drawn from the young Russian beneath him suggested to Bond that he would have no problems fulfilling whatever duty Queen and Country demanded from him in his future employment under Military Intelligence.


	3. Chapter 3

** The Following Week... **

Q impatiently pressed the intercom button from his vantage point above the room where 006 and 007 were currently sparring.

“Don’t make me come down there, Trevelyan. This is supposed to be a friendly spar, not a pommelling exercise.”

Alec glanced up with a grin and released James from the headlock. He bounced back, light on his feet, and just out of reach. “You’ve lost your touch, James. Time was you could take me out with one hand tied behind your back.”

Bond straightened his spine, the purple tinge in his face gradually fading while he got his breath under control. “Don’t concern yourself, _Alec,”_ pushing the name across his tongue like it had a bitter taint. “Six weeks and I’ll be back on form and no doubt show you up for the useless bastard you are,” he finished with a tight grin.

Alec’s smile slipped slightly before he lunged at James torso, winding him hard when he landed on his back on the mat. “Still lose your temper at the drop of a hat I see,” James grunted, their faces inches from one another. 

“Only where you’re concerned, _James,”_ he snarled quietly. James’ arms were pinned to the floor but Alec had dropped his guard for a second beneath their waists.

“Is this about your sister?” James droned out in one breath. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t _forgiven_ me.” On the last words, he lifted his knee and landed it squarely in Alec’s crotch. 

“Christ!” Alec grunted and rolled off him. “Dirty bastard!”

“GENTLEMEN! AND I USE THE WORD LOOSELY MIND! ENOUGH!” barked Q.

James rolled to his feet. “We’re not done, Bond.”

James turned to look down at the Russian resting on his elbows still on the mat.

“No,” he replied. “We most certainly are not. Watch your back, insufferable prick.”

“Likewise, Jameska!” he called to his retreating form.

Q watched the altercation with a roll of his eyes. _Fuck’s sake,_ he thought to himself. _I hope Mallory knows what he’s doing._

______________________________

**Five Weeks Later**

“I would like to go on the record officially that I am strongly against this.”

“Noted, Quartermaster,” Mallory replied.

Q let out an exasperated huff. Mallory raised his eyebrows. “Was there something else?”

“He is _not_ mission ready. Why would you have me oversee his rehabilitation if you’re not going to listen to my recommendations?”

Mallory sat back in his chair and folded his hands. Q recognised the move as a leveller of his patience which he was certainly trying right now.

“Don’t think I make this decision lightly, Q. We are not in the business of mollycoddling our agents. Bond has convinced me enough.”

“And since when have you listened to Bond’s advice on Bond, Sir? He’s reckless by design and not qualified—!”

“Dismissed, Q.” The tone cut his rant dead. Accompanied by the _look,_ Q knew it was pointless arguing the issue further. He marched out of the office without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: On their first joint mission since GoldenEye, things come to a head.


End file.
